The Book of the Burning

AMBRIDGE

“Leave us,” the Queen  queen commanded, and the lords and filed out of the hall along with the guard.

When Ardith and Lingelde remained, she said, “Girls? You too. For a moment.”

“We’re just glad to see you alive!” Ardith said, kissing Allyn.

“And don’t forget to hold that to your head,” Lingelde pushed the cold towel into his hand.

“And give yourself time to rest. You take on so much. We all love you—”

“Ardith!” Edith snapped.

“She’s such a witch sometimes,” Lingelde murmured as the two girls left, closing the doors behind them.

Allyn, long legs spread out before him as he held the towel to his black eye, laughed a little until he coughed, and then he winced.

“Well,” Edith said, running a long finger around the pewter mouth of her wine cup, “you certainly did lay it on a bit thick.”

“Had to make it convincing, Sister.”

“The black eye… The cuts.”

“I had Roderick do it.”

“And he did it? He did it so well. One should wonder about a friend like that.”

“Damn you,” Allyn said, lightly. “He was light with it first, but I told him this was serious and I would do him almost as rough.”

“And you did.”

“And now we are…”  Allyn waved a long hand about languidly, “the sole survivors of Osric Wulfstan’s ambush.”

Edith frowned, looking down at her bead wrapped hands.

“But did you have to ruin that tunic I spent so long on?”

“Convincing sister, convincing.”

“Yes,” she said. “And you killed the soldier Rufus sent with you?”

“A shame that was, but necessary.”

“But what of ours?”

“Guarding your rat bastard of a husband.”

“Not for long,” Edith said.

“No,” Allyn cackled. “Soon they’ll be killing him—”

“Hush!” the Queen snapped.

“Sister! So cautious! Even now.”

“Especially now,” Edith said.

“Well,” Edith rose, brushing her gown, “we had better go to bed. We’ve a long day tomorrow, many long days, actually. We have a kingdom to take back and Hale be damned for now.”

“And Rufus’s troops gone? Thank God for that.”

“Well,” Edith said, “you can thank God all you want, but you’d do better thanking Morgellyn.”

“Queen Morgellyn? In Essail?”

“Yes, she sent me Richard’s signet ring, so I could roge a letter calling the Dauman troops back home. That bit of international diplomacy is going to cost. Unlike God, Morgellyn Aethelyn never does anything from sheer goodwill.”

NAVA 

“It’s not Turnthistle Farm,” Mehta said, “but it will have to do.”

“My dear Mehta,” Yarrow told her, “we will find our way back to Turnthistle Farm soon enough, but for now, for our safety, this is where we must be.”

“What in the world is it?” Theone wondered as they continued down the long hall, occasionally splashed with grey light from high above.

“The Passes,” Ohean said. “Chyr is the oldest off the Royan kingdoms, though I suppose Locrys would be nearly as old. Before the Zahem were here, this land was part of Solahn, but before even the Solahni, this was Royan. It was never conquered. We simply stopped living here, but we did not stop building here.”

“Part of Royan architecture is the building of tunnels,” Yarrow said, “mazes and mazes of tunnels, ways connecting to each other so that the person who knows of them can get from place to place in almost magical fashion.”

Orem smiled at this. He saw the book of maps under Yarrow’s arm.

“I thought you had come to us by magic,” he said.

“Oh, there was magic in it to be sure,” she said, “and the Ways, the Passes, have a heavy enchantment upon them. They cannot be detected once built, and like all ancient architectural magic, it was built by the wizards of old. The original ways, built before the Temple, have been built to incorporate the Temple. There is a Way that goes right into it, that leads into the true Temple itself.”

“True Temple?”Austin said.

“Yes, Lord Buwa. For the Temple you know, which you may have even entered, is built over the real treasure and the real structure, and it is that place we will enter when we have reviewed the maps.”

Austin frowned to himself. He was quiet for a long time and then he asked:

“Is there a Pass that goes under the Lion House?”

When Rendan woke the next morning, he murmured, “I have a bad feeling about this day.”

He swung his legs from the bed, reaching for the large blue dressing gown, and wrapping it around himself.

“What time is it?”

“It is well past midmorning,” said Ethan.

Rendan looked at the red headed man and said, “And you’ve been up since dawn?”

“Yes.”

Rendan shrugged and said, “I can’t see much point in that.” He stretched and yawned.

“I need the restroom. And then breakfast. Or perhaps the restroom and then coffee, and then breakfast.”

As Rendan walked across the large room and went behind the thick blue curtain, Ethan said, “You’re right though about this day. I’ve got a strange feeling myself.”

When Rendan had finished with the restroom they went out to the high walled little courtyard under his window and he said, “From here the city isn’t such a bad place.”

“You can’t see any of the city,” Ethan said.

“Exactly.”

Ethan shook his head and, laughing, said, “I’m the one who should despise this city.”

“This city is a canker on my family. On this country.”

Then Rendan, taking a draft from his coffee, added, “Well, not this city. We’ve done all we can to cover it up. Rename it, make it beautiful. But still. That—” he pointed in the direction of the Temple, “is a blight on us.

“Or is it there?” he pointed in another direction. He shrugged with mug in hand.

“Hells, I can’t tell.”

Ethan pointed directly ahead. “It’s there,” he said. Then, “What’s that?”

Both men sat up straighter.

Out of the trees came a tall, bronze skinned and bronze haired man with a sword in fine scabbard hanging at his side, a great slate blue cloak was hanging from his shoulders.

He looks like a hero! Rendan thought.

He had steady green eyes, and he handed Prince Rendan a letter.

“When you see the High Priest Phineas, please give him this. Incidentally, you may read it if you wish. It is short.”

Anson saluted them and then, before either of the men could call to him, he disappeared into the trees.

Rendan looked after him and then shrugged.

Ethan unfolded the letter and it read.

 

There were seven stars

But one went black

Two of them are coming back

To take from him the star he took

The next rhymes not

But it’s okay

With me is also Cylthenfay

- O

    

From the bushes, Yarrow gripped Anson’s wrist as they watched the two princes read the letter.

“The hunter has become the hunted,” she said.

Then she pulled him back into the Passes.

In the evening, Dahlan heard Sariah’s footsteps coming toward their council room.

“And you know it is her,” Aimee marveled. “Now that is love.”

Erek Skabelund was looking out of the window, his arms folded behind his back, face rigid.

“I know,” was all Elder Allman said. For their beloved Temple was quickly becoming something else, smoke rising from its center.

But when Sariah entered, a blond servant girl and a thin boned boy with a spade came as well.

“What in the world?” Allman demanded. “This is your Prophet. Show some respect.”

Dahlan shook his head.

“None of it matters. I may be the last Prophet, and it seems I am going just like the First.”

“Dahlan,” Sariah said, “I need you to be quiet and listen.”

As she spoke, she moved to shut the door, and as she did, the blond garden girl who had come with her suddenly rose up, melted away and transformed into a black haired, chocolate skinned woman.

“Witchcraft!” Allman fell back against Skabelund, making the sign against evil while all in the room stared at Yarrow.

But just then, the boy beside Yarrow transformed into Austin Buwa, and the eyes of Skabelund and Allman went from one to the other.

“Is this what you learned in the land of the witches?” Elder Allman began.

“Be silent,” Yarrow said, simply, and such a silence, such a calm set upon them that Austin knew she had enchanted them.

“We do not have time for this,” Yarrow continued. “If you would live, gather what is essential to you. Gather your loved ones who are still here, and come with me.”